TIMELESS AFFAIR

Joining the names,
a nameless melancholia crosses a borderland,
between dreams & reality.
The stone face, a mask,
some nothingness transcends
the unhearing mind.
Tell me how much
you know about yourself?

Moon shaped pleasures
did not stir me, not ever.
The hours of a dark day moved
in pink fog, my heart
was bruised in a fall.
My infinite failures
saw the inversed truth.

Yellow was the rage, fire.
A perpetual leap from emptiness.
The flames were movements,
towards void.
The thoughts were circling over the flames.
Green windows open, shut, open.
My timeless affair with my self starts.

Satish Verma

EGOCENTRIC WIND

The matrix drinks the words,
in the anonymity of opaque meanings.
Heart slips a flutter,
to catch the unborn tomorrow.
The deep azure measures the depth, the fear,
drowning the architect,
generic of doom.

A dropp floats in an ocean of solitude,
a static milieu which has no quivering of its own.
The roots always give pain.
Your eyes are filled with tears.
Now final image
was a memoir of falling leaves.

The dark effect splinters,
into many seeds.
The space widens between us in a
hush of loneliness.
Egocentric wind scrapes our bones.

Satish Verma

MOTH-EATEN

There was a geometric progression
in movement of truth and dreams.
Candles snuffed out in moon light,
were dripping bloody tears.
My lips tasted the salt,
accepted the basket of wounds.
A sacred gift, you still cannot read the eyes.

Night lifts a crescent moon
on slaughtered clouds.
Diaspora of stars burn their love poems.
I collect the pebbles to build a path.
The arthritic branches will never know,
how love was evaporated from the trees?

Signatures were
ahead of times, giving up,
their names to childhood.
We turned into dots.
The sorrow started an enquiry into wilting of words.
Life was to be read as a book,
pages moth-eaten and yellow.

Satish Verma

YOU BECOME A STRANGER

Give me your lips
I have to drink the dark night.

It is the final assault
for tomorrow. The idea
becomes a journey.
I have to walk on water.

True dialogue starts
when stars are not with you.
I am standing on rooftop
scanning the sky.

Let me repeat the ascent,
the hill is younger than me.
It will settle the dispute,
man was taller than god.

You become a stranger
in your own drawn circle.
Life had the absurd walls
a wounded center.

Satish Verma

WANDERING FAKIR

Blood splatters on walls,
on earth. Erstwhile anointed idol
lies broken. Thatched roof was burning.
Navel crushed on the newspaper,
a rape was atoned by cash award.

A womb refuses to eject the ticking clock
wants to preserve the window of sin.
Mother do not cry for the ashen stranger
he will go to the roaring sea to wash the
bleeding corn, and the mouth.

Salt in the eyes is hurting. Paper thin
purple child becomes the player of death.
Appetite of flesh for nirvana has cuddled
the religion of grizzly bears. Be or not to
be makes a body formless and slapped.

River is waiting for the shoreline to show
respect for the wandering fakir. He comes
once in thousand years and crosses the dams.
World will kiss his tattered toga. He wanted
nothing, he gave nothing.

Satish Verma

WHITE ROSES

Mob hurts you
when you were standing alone in a crowd.
Bending like blade of grass
you accepted the rocks.
Your inner world broke down.
Softly you became a river,
flowing, meandering,
sucking the barriers.

The shivering relationship
puts off the mask,
a catastrophy or
liquidation of a frame took place?
With no regrets, life declares the fall of
our incorruptible icon.
The time and face
changed the color.
Farewell to truth was given!

For the poverty, the dirt;
the shriveled faces
god repented.
Dark lead the dark.
Blasts of anger did not help.
Few feet crossed the path of truth.
Stormy winds erased
the clusters of white roses.

Satish Verma

CARRIED MY FATHER UNSIDE

Mirror to mirror
a face floated in anguish
the mourning was deep
whenever inquest for truth was made.
Was it so terrible?
I cannot read the human face.
We were so used
to wear the masks.

Stoned and deaf,
fuzzy kiss of death levels the ferocious peak.
The nameless murder
of truth got a reward.
Garden of strange foliage
slurred on a song.
A metaphysical experience
sniffs the life.

Chained to the probity of the city
I bowed my head.
Reluctant to move in a procession of ugly months.
Lifetime’s nostalgia lifted a veil.
No sleep will descend.
I still carry
my father inside.

Satish Verma

EMPTINESS WAS SCREAMING

When your lies pretend to be truths,
Your house becomes full of cadavers.
The reticent progeny,
you abandoned at birth, strikes.
My hands bleed, lifting the bones.
Actuality overwhelms the landscape
like molten lava.

Shadows in the sun, grow larger when,
we are dissecting the truth.
A daunting work to dig out the relics.
We have not modified our speech.
Ill tempered time
makes me insane.

I was not prepared for this calamity
losing my way in a jungle of untruths.
Mighty darkness
pierces the perennial thoughts
in the brain edifice,
knives were out all evening,
emptiness was screaming.

Satish Verma

BENEDICTION

How sad you had been
without wholeness for the,
price of having broken shoulders?
The people were shedding their skins
to wear new masks.
I was haunted in my sleep.
Sun was not rising.

House to house from face to face,
death makes a pause.
Time sits for a while, when
we mourn in silence.
A scream halts in our throats.
In the courtyard a pungent smell spreads.
Atrophied limbs tremble.

The elegance foresakes the human touch.
The river dries up,
sucked in by laments of earth.
The unfolding of wounds
festers on cheeks.
Lips sluicing the grief,
spill benediction!

Satish Verma

INSULT THE DEATH

Blows had blackened the mist,
fear of crossing the road, dented the veil.
‘Ism’ versus the boundary had a long rhetoric.
I was struggling with scars of learning.
Pain unwrapped the gift of rhythm with confession
bitten by skorpios, blue and cold.

Finding the cause does not solve the rigidity.
Entering my own genome, increases the panic attack,
where I am heading after all?
And today sun beats the unentered thighs
marrow, blood of a martyr, who pledged
to die to himself between enquiry and truth.

Fragmented self now seeks totality
and the mystery of staying alive,
when the hills are dead and green had turned around.
As usual I am meditating, to live or not to live.
The greatness of earth still impresses,
it does not insult the death.

Satish Verma

THE AIR WAS SCENTED

The tryst with path,
was full of voices of silence,
confronting its wrath & revenge.
Nothing was new, soft matter divided the winds,
arithmetic of energy,
faced up to its agony of spent life.

Decently artful,
you manipulated the clouds, its music,
the bluebells went into trance.
The shower laden
leaves started dancing.
Half solemn, half smiling
you preached the immortality
of a sick downloaded wisdom.

The golden days had
yellowed vision of time, but mutation was complete.
The masts were broken.
The air was scented with
punch & humility.
Adjectives had the
advantage over nouns.

Satish Verma

FACE OF TRUTH

It hurts, the abstract isolation of life
emptying of self.
The infection
of water in the sun.
A nameless pain annihilates
the ascending desires.
I want no more
traffic of dreams.
Only discovery of Being.

Where the city had gone from the mirror
of my poems?
Streets had the color
of a wrinkled maid.
And new dictionary had new words
of an obscene vernacular.
I wanted my stack, my lake.

Surface exploded into nothingness.
The lake boiled in the heat of eternity.
A part of the evening was cool,
participating in the festivities
of homing birds.
It took a whole night
to see the face of truth!

Satish Verma

HEART UNSNAPS

You gave me a name without asking.
History of my pain
did not need any label.
I recalled only
the blooms of bougainvillea,
not the heat which gave them color.
My burned lips
remembered only the dew
and rear view of life.

The total otherness of the moon and stars
did not heal the scars.
My perceptions had
given me hot tears.
How the distance between us
created the schizophrenia?
The familiar laughs
have frozen after all!

In the middle of night I lie awake
to count the door
and the closed windows.
I listen to the moaning of walls.
My eyes remained half-closed in freckled sleep.
Heart blinks, unsnaps
and weaves a moon.

Satish Verma

MY POEMS WEPT

I had to let them stay.
My anguish & anxiety.
Denuding me, filling me with hymns of pain.
The blank days drifted in slow motion.
I tried to sing,
imitating the cuckoo on the tree,
to shake off the clouds from the eyes.

Everyday the pain was new,
dreams were old
in the eternal churning.
Grizzled clouds hanged on trees
for witnessing the chaining of desires.
Empty words went into seizures,
clogging the arteries of crisp brain.

Deep within a seed
opened the eyes sitting
quietly near the blast of pain.
Green sprouts drank the light.
My poems wept
and truth started a dance.
The time and space intermingled
to celebrate a birth.

Satish Verma

THE TERRIBLE

This terracotta urn
contains the ashes
of an earth-baked dream.
You worship the setting sun,
rape of dawn will continue.

Intravenous entry of hope
had failed.
Outside the window
crowd of heirlooms, falling like stars.
Thoughts come and go, we hunted opportunities in vain.

Tonight I will dropp the wheels
on the tarmac, to roll the pride.
My flight had knocked out
the sleeping pain. Now amnesia
will help me to climb on the moon’s shoulders.

They dragged her in the field,
the most deprived one. Was outraged.
I send you my grief, my sadness,
O, god. The flag was flying half mast,
rapist was absconding.

Satish Verma

A TOUCH OF CLASS

The tree, the sky, the moon, of
summer prick the eyes.
We suffer majestically.
The aberrations will
now rule the city.
Incorruptible winds
languished in crooked lanes.
A pale hand will paint the unlatched doors.

When stars meditate in unison,
moon upcurves.
The blue becomes dark,
my eyes climb the hill.
The day has ended without a conclusion.
Clouds are frightened.
Virtue when cuts open the heart,
it does not bleed.

Pseudo reality reigns,
and we amputate the limbs without analgesics.
The philosophy of being
is quietly murdered.
Green leaves start dying.
A terrible dream flicks the hope,
a touch of class with littleness.

Satish Verma

WET LANDSCAPE

A saddened rain dropp
strikes me at the face.
When town is burning,
its dignity confronts me with force.
A human clone rises
like a smoke from the ruins
of our nerves.
Why the love has evaporated
from our hearts?

In new spread of palaces,
upside down roots grow with regrets.
The dark woods depart,
small grasses peel off.
the wounds of earth.
Tomorrow the half glory
of our greed will be exhibited
and leaves will burn.

Now a clearing has been made.
Sun smiles, bakes the bones.
The water of life
has been denied to us.
Beaming technology buries the classical path,
the book and the eros.
The wet landscape cries.

Satish Verma

HUMMING NIGHT

The enlightment drops words, things
I am at peace with the light,
the sand, the river.
The thought of non-being is subtle,
touches a cord.
Hours slip, silicon hardens.
Grains of truth move towards essence.

The thought of emptiness
was very powerful
I sit by myself, swallow a stunned voice.
My hands become white.
Inside of me was a book
holding a past. I hid nothing: my faultline.
It was a strange poverty.

I could not plug it,
a hole in memory.
The voices drip.
A moon-knife slices my room.
Far off a poem drifts, in blue nothingness.
The day was very ill
and night again humming
a tune of rising sun.

Satish Verma

WRITING ITS DIKTAT

Beyond the thoughts,
nothing I mourned,
nameless death was writing its diktat.
The dirty epithets were accepted for collage.
Simply a prayer was needed
for a childless truth.
Rudimentary terms owned
a beautiful diction.

The ultimate pain makes you dumb.
Words lose the vision, you walk in a hollow city.
Now is the time to remember the movement of truth
in a jungle of drums.
Eyes must find out the old path.

Huge crowds collect at the door.
Human connections are at strain.
The questions are never answered flawlessly.
Life should not burn like coal,
but be a tree,
in praise of sky,
wind and earth.

Satish Verma

HOLDS ME GREEN

The cult
catches you
like a black hole.

You cannot scale the walls -
slide back
in a crucible.

Like fried insects
crisp and dry.
Witch-hunt starts.

Sky was blue
in eyes,
winds will divide the space.

Do you need a mediator
to read between the lines?
To cross the fence?

Who sucked me dry?
Who leeched me white?
Death holds me green!

Satish Verma

TRACKS WERE OBLITERATED

The spirit of hollow ideal
was not the thing,
I remained inconsolable.
Truth demanded endless pursuit.
The helplessness of the beaten days
was unfit for the night of terror.
The false paradigm could not ignite the flame.

The shadows collapsed
and thoughts walked in dark
into the trap.
Perfect splash of impulsive drive,
and movement of matter
created hallucinations.
and the conduct of freezing moments
had no parallel.
Cutting edge was evident.

How truth saved its pain,
of telling a heart
the death of a silent dream.
The vision went blind.
Faithful figures did not write the wrong texts.
Escape from territory was complete
and tracks were obliterated.

Satish Verma

HISTORICAL GRIEF

A perpetual war between
frame and content feeds
the fire!
I step outside the house of thoughts.
The death begins the counting and
jasmines start crying.
I hear the over-worn desert
blowing the sand.
A raw stone throws up a sculpture.

Midnight knocks on the door were loud.
Rain was banging, moonlight drifts in.
The huge cloud outlines
the ceremony of deluge.
Abstract ideas have to be clothed again.
The naked truth stops the clock.

A proxy death shatters me.
I also die in a dome.
Night melts in hissing sounds,
time becomes a paper weight.
The splender of quartz cracks.
Demolition is complete
historical grief now takes over.

Satish Verma

UNTITLED MONUMENT

Beyond the self,
is the freedom, unchained dawn,
I am in a crowd of voices.
Lifted by songs,
a bruised truth becomes a rose.
Choice was limited,
I desired silence, middle path in night,
under the lunar ecstasy.

Nowhere to go
I searched for tranquility, peace and light.
Failing hopelessly.
Love migrates back to old memories.
White days are pruned,
I would say the mirror was wrong.
I did not choose my life.

Dream of final
release was extraordinary
grandeur of pink moon
hanging on the trees,
the divine shower.
Life did not alter the genes,
it shifted the flow.
Untitled monument was submerged.

Satish Verma

SEPARATED OUR LIVES

Shadows were talking,
we arrived nowhere.
Text was smaller than life.
Millennium hung on our eyes,
rattling the long distance calls.
Our house was ruined,
multiple windows
turned into walls and poems died.

Your face has become an empty vase.
Dismembered cast off
in the corner of the house.
A dreadful ruffled
body of the past glory.
I was nearly buried in quick sand.
Now I talk to trees, the carpeted clouds,
and move again.

My hands suffered
lifting the polarities.
Random tears disturbing the heart beats.
Knowledge was painful
and diminutive people spoiled my collections.
The stones, flowers
and wings separated our lives.

Satish Verma

BURNT TASTE

A cyan globe
rolling in the black sky.
I was visualizing
an earthset
on the horizon.

Lianas
threw a noose
around my neck.
Did I
start the fires?

My dissent
was of any relevance?
Who was standing
on the moon?

Self-centered was your vision
I was trying
to turn the tide.

So much bragging
could not go well with me.
The tongue had the burnt taste.

Satish Verma

IT IS TOO DARK

Forgetting the ultimate name
of clean truth
the essence of time latched on to the dangerous arguments.
Something went wrong.
I watched the foot crumbling,
everything was moving towards dark.

I wiped the magnifying glass
to witness the hunger
of everyday life,
blue veins of the shriveled legs.
Sinking deep in smeared eyes,
a panic leaps.
Nothingness to nothingness,
I could not use any syntax.

Repeating same sentences,
you are lost in labyrinth stabbing the walls.
Sunset will send
the blurred sparrows to home.
Antiquity will become a burden.
I am restless, a candle must be lighted,
It is too dark.

Satish Verma

ON BURNING COALS

Loneliness of non-being and,
reality, fill up the vessel.
I search for the eloquence while,
emptiness will be my forte.
Countless words are crossing
like a promise in milk-white days
I gather sunlight through grass leaves.

Life had been full of shadows,
lengthening, penetrating
the tapestry of love.
The descent was steep.
Coming home I found
no humming words.
Sitting in dark
I wait for shooting stars.

Measuring the blood, drawn from our hurts
was a royal reward
for your fingers.
You are allowed to compare blood
with brown coffee.
Sand in our eyes,
we walked bare-foot
on burning coals.

Satish Verma

ERECTED IN MY PAIN

Life gives you a sudden shock,
with ugly scars of mutilated truth.
Arriving becomes a failure,
a tilted faith.
Your eyes were blank but
you were seeing through
your hundred wounds,
spinning in the import.

Continuity of lies starts again.
From post to post
a sting was preoccupied,
fed on odium.
I had an indestructible desire
to set the throat free
from the obtrusive rust.
Love was not enough
a little bit burning on tongue was needed.

Polity has ruined
the green valleys
quietness cries in vain.
Fear in the mirror strikes.
I begin to run towards the sun
erected in my pain.
Times alter the image.
The cosmic bend is trapped.

Satish Verma

RETURN TO MYSELF

Dumbly you come
to the brink of a precipice,
at the point of no return.
Moving, pivoting with
a huge perception.
Knowing that life was exacting,
you are alive,
alone with a conflict.
Your choosing was a miracle.

Seeking was not ending.
Death was an inadvertent mistake.
You lie down in terror.
Deep in the bones you know, you have to move.
There was no cloud above the eyes,
history was an aberration-
rags to riches.

You become yourself
when death defines a name
and I remember a sunset.
My shaking fingers
weave a drape of sorrow.
There was no patch of green
I return to myself.

Satish Verma

GIFT OF LOVE

Between the blue eyes,
wind smeared a hot kiss
on forehead of moon.
There were no half-brothers to watch.

Swarms of thoughts descended
in zero hour of night.
Sadness was beyond threshold
a crucial insult to the arrival of time.

Now I was not going anywhere
I was afraid of myself.
The centre was disappearing,
in the statements of truth.

Pleas are falling apart in
global freezing, of collective brain.
I start sifting through the leaves
a gift of love, my fruit.

Satish Verma

GOLDEN SUNSET

Gently the invisible
strength overrides
penetrating every bone.
The desire was not seeking,
it was emitting a gloss.
Fierce truth was reverberating.
Only the mind was alert,
flesh was hissing.

An intense light
knived my sadness, death wish
it was a legend, I went into a process.
A quietness catching
all the voices of disharmony.
Word by word vocabulary
filtered in my heart.
Priests were prophesying doom.

Instant attention gave a passage,
uncontaminated, closer to the truth.
Gloom was glorified.
Scissors had done their job, few will remember the designs.
I should now think
of a golden sunset.

Satish Verma

STREET FIGHTING

Timeless pain and,
painless time were two colors.
On the canvas,
I was spreading, to open the heart.
Non-being touching the vast emptiness.
Life on the moment, played the abstract music.
Was it the fear of blindness?

Indecipherable handwriting creates puzzles,
my laments cannot read.
Truth marches on my bones,
dead bodies do not count.
The interrupted meanings
are taking their tolls.
On the track,
blueprints are fluttering.

Whom do we complain?
Foliage was without fruits
and roots were dying.
And land smelled of hurts,
sweat and tears.
Unbroken oaths and
tools had disappeared.
And street fighting
had overwhelmed the crescent moon.

Satish Verma

INCONTINENCE

Let me change the contours of life,
polluted mind-set.
Spider webs have
elective sites of emotions.
I want to open a new range,
to locate the corrupt moments.
Turn over your face,
let me find the scars.

The soaring pinnacle,
fatherless fame, were declining.
The rot was setting on
the fresco of the wall.
Aspiring for god-head
they have choked the fluiting.
Hands and eyes are cadaverous,
unmoving. Sun is burning very hot.

Not tomorrow,
today we have to bid farewell
to neutral day.
Life will not spare the casting.
Too much mist
has settled on the eyes,
raining madness on the road.
Month and years
are giving incontinence.

Satish Verma

BETWEEN TWO CENTURIES

Choice was washing the guilt
or keeping mind shut.
Microscopic deterioration
in the brain had set in.
The monologue of humility
was not relevant for the flame ritual.
They said the death was a dropp of wine.

Immoral alchemy had
broken the enormous myth.
The electrons went crazy,
they orbited like hungry eagles.
Truth was never the same.
Fading age wears new wrinkles,
black on black rose praises the air.

The return of grief, was very evident.
Eyes blinked endlessly,
I too lifted the pleated pain.
Enzyme of new creation
was worthless.
We were walking
into an epic, oscillating
between two centuries.

Satish Verma

SCENT WILL BE BURIED

This way it was
this way it happened
I could not run along the river.

Your face floats
like a skylamp.
Halfway rainbow was broken.

How did it happen?
I became transgenic
by the kiss of death.

This was my victory
I surrendered the cushion.
You sleep in my arms.

Again I will wander
in the graveyard
where my angel was sleeping.

This is my last letter
in the month November
Now the scent will be buried in snow.

Satish Verma

SKY WEEPS

My fear becomes the courage
to pursue the truth,
the basic abandonement.
I must go after the dark
stepping on hot leads of pain.
Truth does not stalk,
it burns the fingers on your face
for a self-portrait.

Evidence of borders gives
the catastrophic miss
let us abolish the centre.
No body will now
measure the distance.
We will move at periphery
on a trajectory of truth
within the eternity
of larger boundary.

Why you live in future,
opposing today,
to put away the past?
That was my eternal question.
You felled a tree with a terrible bang.
My heart aches.
Water moves in sudden spurts
of nightmare. Sky weeps.

Satish Verma

STENCH OF DEATH

Why do you run away
from the primordial fear?
Of tight emptiness?
A shapeless entity of drifting psyche?
This was your home
where carcasses of cliches
hang from the doors of wisdom.
Unplanted seeds
of vacant connotations.

Inch by inch you were eating
your prophetic pauses
salt had become tasteless.
Counting the kisses of
moths on the screen
a candle burned furiously.
I never picked the colors of cloud, of rain, of blood.

What becomes of happening,
of being, of reaching?
The stones of truth are very sharp.
The roads were conspiring
insects collecting, under the surface.
Circling winds had
a heavy stench of death
but words were very intelligent.

Satish Verma

GALAXY OF FAME

When you try to find fire
in edifice of whispers,
you are badly singed,
the wronged truths demand scrutiny.
Fabulous smoke settles
on false statements.
The tunneled thoughts sway.

Epithets rise and plunge
in clefts of chastity,
remedying for sorrow and grief,
for death and pain.
Between us what has been left of truth?
Life had been a travelogue of designs,
inwardly we all are burned out.

I am frightened.
The probing must be painful,
conclusions will finally
dissect the superlatives.
Gloved hands will become visible,
which killed the innocent sparrows
in the galaxy of fame.

Satish Verma

PLASMA OOZING

We listened deeply to the sounds
of seed power of duality.
I was very restive
there was no time to review
the veracity of benevolence.
It was a flight of songs,
a passage through silence.

The event and nonevent,
became burning topics enslaving the angles of lips
and splitting the smiles.
If you wanted to feel the truth,
you must undergo splendid mutation,
to read the grains,
the sun, the rains.

Here comes the moon
sailing on dry bones
of our trivialities;
of our banalities,
shutting off our thoughts.
Multiples of our arts,
our performances,
had the plasma oozing
from our buried themes.

Satish Verma

THE STINK

Eyes will speak, not the road.
I am going very far.
Ability to suffer was me.

Landmarks had spinned,
the art abducted.
Was it unlucky for defying life?

Who wore the guilt,
for choosing pomegranates,
for the blasts?

Now I am struck on midway,
annihilating the adequacy,
the thrust for good and bad.

I survive the stink.
Blood spilling on quivering lips,
that God was nowhere in sight.

Satish Verma

BLIND WALLS

Icons of evolution and
loud men made a circle
of nihility, leaping high,
splashing the black perfume.
Nicotine reclaimed ne plus ultra.
Lurching thrusts reached nowhere.
Dirty fingers held the prosperity.

The dialogue of root
and earth started a nameless fire.
Hunger stunned the leaves,
brutalized by unmanaged truths.
The sting operated in dark.
Let going the lights,
phantoms were starving.
I saw my face for the first time.

I accept my responsibility
for closed drapes.
Doors were banging in terror
and there were sparks on the roof.
The blind walls squirmed.
It was time for your roadmap
to show the lines,
sign the winds.

Satish Verma

NO IMMEDIATE TOMORROW

said the path
missing the trail of truth.
Spirituality remained unconnected.
Cunning lies kept on
popping up like bush fires.
Non answering provoked
a wordless war between tall trees.

Non sleeping fears
held the linear perceptions.
Tirelessly the thoughts mapped
the doubts and plunged into grief.
A name was engraved on nevertime tomb.
Show me your tattooed skin,
a proof of a dream.

Don’t push it down, it is always there.
Your basic fear.
You want again to cook a slice of past.
A tragic penetration into darkness.
There is no immediate tomorrow.
You are seeking a burning star,
smacked of revenge.

Satish Verma

UNDER THE COVERS

Learning something about
a cause with remote effect
you will have a soul
connective to the body.
Near the end of the home
lies the river of fire.
Time to bid goodbye
to blind walls
and enter the arena of lashings.

It was difficult to unremember.
The mind rambled and you were chewing
the kiss of death.
Time traveled in circle,
dealing with fear.
I waited for the space, to widen between us
to breathe forgiveness.

Nothing stirs the waves.
The water reflects the elegy,
a poem for the trapped one.
Nostalgia for the brood,
the age gives way. Half aloud
the evening settles under the covers.
Brute claws kill the span.

Satish Verma

CATCH A BUTTERFLY

Deep lies the truth, unfathomed,
you cannot touch it.
Crossing the faceless matrix,
do not reach the level,
reasoning flattens the spikes.
On sand, elixir falls
like drops from awakening.
Arising from sorrow,
mustiness fills your eyes.

This was truth or untruth,
two strokes of madness,
wedged between night and sun.
Silence becomes an eloquent speech.
Each day brings silly
statements wearing artful masks.
Commentary on a vision fails.

Right versus wrong.
The conents of conflict always
linked the fear with poverty of a Being.
The involuted self uncurls
a scheme of war with a big world.
Now the smiles catch
a butterfly to immitate the colors.

Satish Verma

FORGOTTEN HILLS

Again I was giving chase
to a mirage.
Wiping off the transient thoughts
oozing from every orifice,
I will sell my dreams today.
Limb by limb,
the naked and brute will buy
the bonanza.

For a lost scent
I wandered from moon to moon
flitting past the sky of doves,
and the lonely winds
of crowded griefs.
The trampled earth
will not soak the joy of burning sun.
The tree and the flowers,
and the seeds falling in a heap
went unnoticed.

Now I will go in the forgotten hills
through mist and rains.
Give me some more pain,
it makes me move faster.

Satish Verma

WHEN YOU PEEL THE MOON

Turgid freedom of nondescript
energy moves on the
secret circuits of nude gods.
Thy body politic breaks into splinters of million thoughts.
When the dusty winds
settle on our faces, it is a holy bath.
The neutral sky perceives it,
lapses into silence.

Poor vision of builders,
carries an abstract frame for the silver screen.
We peer in dark
to find the blasts,
culture of giant legs was the essence of truth
descends deep in crevices.
The technique brings the broken images.

In your mind lies the whole history of a tree.
You don’t remember.
When you peel the moon,
your tongue falters.
Of several centuries
the grief stricken bird recites a poem.
Come beside me,
I will tell you the name.

Satish Verma

STRIPPING TO THE BONES

Now me, now not,
a thought is always there.
My genes navigate on collapsing walls,
words, dark mind, broken dreams.
But thought is always there.
I hold on firmly to sounds,
voices, tongues,
the thought is always there.

Brain goes into a nameless friction,
of aimless voyage
I rediscover the myth and abandon the zone of thoughts.
Distance becomes a wailing music.
Sitting between the flesh and bones
I recognise the relic of a window.


Let us dropp the years,
become timeless, empty and hollow.
Egocentric wind violates the lungs.
We cannot sing in praise of earth.
I walk through the body,
stripping to the bones, to find the seeds.
I refuse to pluck the flowers.

Satish Verma

THE TRAGIC INTIMACY

A crisp moon rejects the night,
the words retreat, like fallen truths.
Stillness was palpable
silhouettes moved in vacancy.
And we did not know where to go,
how to find the cause of life.
World surged forward like a spider.

The dust, the heat
and a breathing sorrow
met in the twilight
of immaculate pain.
I hated the drooping lights
and burning of feathers.
Birds were dumb
to say how cruel
the benevolence had been.

I fell upon a thorn
who witnessed my incarceration.
A fire in my eyes, I glowed like a volcano.
Fogs were hanging
like veils on eyes of moon.
I tasted lichens in mouth.
The tragic intimacy
of an old poem.

Satish Verma

CONFESSIONAL TRUTH

Liquefied version of pain has started working.
human material constructs
a floating emotion at last.
One by one I rediscover
the children of sorrow
among the ruins of ancient prayers.
The fear lurks
under the trees,
under the stones.


I can read it,
unwashed stillness of a revolution.
It was real yesterday,
but collapsed on the rim of today.
My wrinkled faith gets
ready for a proliferation of rites.


The land suffers.
My solitude remains unmeasured.
In despair I latch on to
sounds of pursuing light.
Impatiently the dialogues
are thrown around.
The philosophy of confessional truth
becomes very auspicious.

Satish Verma

MICROTHIN SMILE

Stage was set for the god of death
to alight in vertical scoot.
Then a wall of fear was raised
to outrage the door of saviour.

The receptors were removed from brain,
rejecting the manhood
to join the queue of media barons.

Truncated lord becomes unbuttoned;
truth condition wavering.
Not again the ride through fire

Me and you are untying
the nuggets of tomorrow.
Death and dew will decide the venue of the event.

Go on beating the microthin
smile on the face of the moon.
Clouds are rising without me.

Satish Verma

LIFE DEMANDS ONE THING

The brain will not cease.
Agitation explores
the hypocrisy of paths.
My myths burned, I spinned and tipped
over the inverted truths.
Again I skip the swamps.
Body becomes a frozen lake.

Take off the mask now, tree is flowering
solitary shade is beginning to enlarge.
It is arrival time.
For you it is difficult geometry.
The stolen dreams collapse at your door.
Exhausted, you are grateful to defeatism.

The moth eaten rags cover the polarities of words.
Faceless fear is ready to strike.
Your eyes are filled
with civilized tears.
The weaning from wings was difficult.
Life demanded one thing,
death another.

Satish Verma

DESIGN OF DEATH

You said you were grief,
the marbled tears will not flow.
Was it not much softer
to accept the life
as a design of death?
You needed the continuity of the sorrow.
Why were you seeking the ending?

The visible effect was mirage,
the guilt of genocide.
We emptied our tatoos
on the road,
driving the emotions to insanity
Everything moved towards
the precipice, rejecting the sky.

Sorrow was part of joy, my adversary.
I wished to separate
the fear from the cells.
The pain of perennial setbacks chipped away the ladders.
I stood there at the level
of death, demanding rocks.

Satish Verma

LEFT THE BODY TO WATCH

In the ending, there was beginning of fear
of unknown.
The pain of malignity,
evil punctuation of
a serene landscape.
Life moved from one landmark
to another in alien waste.
I shuddered in a patch of sun.

The impulse was very strong to find out the answer
I was violated by many questions.
Words could not tell,
migrated back to their scriptures.
Time altered the names
of fear & death.
Waiting grew into self-knowledge.

Like pleated oxygen mask
life gave me a bump.
Saddened, I played the mutation game.
Failed, tried again, left the body to watch
the death of the self.
Beyond the mind, away from sorrow
and grief of world.

Satish Verma

THE HUNT HAD FAILED

The symbols delivered the hunger
and desire cleaved the hearts.
Fragile peace for collective
anguish was not a substitute.
Moment to moment
truth revealed your hand.
In desperation I searched
for destiny, not path.

Inadequately I clothed my fate.
Did not believe in organised mirrors.
Less than a peak,
I climbed to happiness.
No idols, no idolatory
my passivity took applause,
hungry thoughts
indulged in deep search.

The imperishable freedom,
a road to absolute
oneness was so close,
you faltered.
The transcription of internal peace went crazy.
Poorly lit blood in veins circulated in circles.
The hunt had failed.

Satish Verma

CROSSING THE SEA

Till the end story
hope was not visible
to others.

Lie neutral truth
and road side innocence
died under the sun.

End in view was shifting
from error to error.
Statements squeezed between departures.

Steaming cup of patience
dazzled the penniless.
I was sick of hypocrisy.

At the end of my forest
dawn of my child
was peeling a rainbow.

Pedlars of worn out boats
were standing at the shores.
Two little feet were crossing the sea.

Satish Verma

SPRING WAS MAULED

The crisis,
a distinctive nothing,
swaps the dignity with blood.
The world hogs around
your palatial words.
The throb drips from your temples.
Hate or love it,
the barren prelude looms large.
I am going for a drift.

It comes back again
and again the debris of dream
of circling wolves.
The crisp moon outlines the contours of hills.
I fight with a stiff translation
of a truth. Deep rituals will always hound.
I escape from my body,
unfreeze my ego.

The stars did not help.
The space widened between doors.
Illusions outlined the
shadows of dead years.
Must we praise the seeping
poision in our bones?
No God had been spared,
the spring was mauled
by prowling summer.

Satish Verma

FRUITS FALL LIKE DREAMS

We were absent from ourselves,
the stillness roared
like a mad sea.
Keeping a night vigil didn’t help,
we felt protected in blazing sun,
quality of answers were deteriorating,
the truth existed,
beyond our beliefs.

In non-aligned manners
we disengaged from pain.
It had become a habit,
to walk in swamps
instead of asphalt road,
which was leading to peace.
We watched the rise,
and fall of attitudes together.
Language failed to find an asylum.

Ataxia of windows,
cannot barricade the light,
the fruits fall like dreams,
on hard ground, to crack open,
and disperse the seeds.
When you start the
voyage to distant realities,
your days are over.

Satish Verma

D-DAY

It was the centre of inferno,
where we met -
the chaste tree was burning.
Beyond the time,
we opened up our memories,
churning our minds.
That was without
space & measurements.
I am again turning deaf.

The stillness had a vocabulary,
and the words hummed a silence.
I emptied all my rooms,
came out to listen to otherness.
How thin was the happening,
the thoughts drifted out,
visibility became poor
and ending of pain came soon.

Pure tearless eyes,
became loyal to truth
which eluded the prayers.
I did’t want to hurt the lights
or myths would glorify the herd.
When the sun becomes cloudless,
I will come for D-day.

Satish Verma

APARTHIED

Offspring were preoccupied in their spiral career,
you feel sorry. You don’t get the sleep,
core-feelings flee from
the windows of an ailing house.
A cloud softens again in the eyes.
Wronged truth has created
an aparthied in ranks of candles.

Inner pain gropes towards
the spot between eyes.
You survive by the
whispers of absolute bliss.
Looking becomes a sequential text.
The self divides the darkness into hot flames.
Outpouring the anguish, the frailities.

At dawn the blackness
of dripping night fades.
The earth wins the moral nothingness,
beyond the regrets of inspired sermons.
The psyche is rooted
deep in the mud, topless
dust spreading the
message of preferred truce.

Satish Verma

BOUQUET

Come in the evening,
on the lake.
Together we will watch
the sunset.

Some unsung lines have been left
on our lips.
Some fractured smiles,
and some unwashed tears,
on the misty cheeks.

Sadness was stuck
in our reddened eyes.
Layer by layer
I want to wipe it.
A song, a reed, I will arrange
in a bouquet
in the name of redundant past
holding the unblemished time.

Come, when it is dark
in the night.
Together we will watch
the moonrise.

Satish Verma

DARK PERFORMANCE

An empty indulgence,
tortures the deep imagination
the immutable name of unuttered grief.
Gradually the fear of unknown,
takes hold of the lungs, spleen.
We don’t put the,
solitude for soul-search.
I am hearing myself now.

The fake overtakes the acuity.
Death looks the sacrilege from a distance.
The saffron clouds create
the opacity in transparent green.
Once we were all colorless,
full of dirt now; storing
our memories in empty hearts.

The vigil was over,
rains scattered the seeds.
The hours and days were littered
with bruised limbs of shaken faith.
No body held the banner.
The dark performance of believers
was sheared off by sharp lights.

Satish Verma

BLACK AND WHITE

The nihil extract seeps into,
hungry roots of thoughts,
doubts the doubter.
I do not abandon the
flame of nil shadows.
Try to find the way back to home,
where I was born,
breaking my leash.

Equanimity suffered when
continuity bargained for
substance, while I opted for
emptiness where the space was enough
to turn the pages of life,
and I listened to the unhitched
voices of virgin lips.

Moon shadow in a self portrait
hangs on a tear
but I worshipped the sun;
Its heat melting my contexts,
entombed in scaffoldings of hope.
The crisp day witnessed
a miracle when no body
complained in black & white.

Satish Verma

UNWORDED

The search was absolute,
truth was not.
The shades of impermanence
and flowing emotions merged.
I stood between the reality
and tilting shadows of time zones.
The distance had created
metaphors and I was weary of pretentions.

The deep sorrow nurtured
a grain of truth
an essence of time.
Earth shuddered in the
process of integumentation.
I trampled on the grass
as if to find the ozone.
Impatience scattered the wings.
I smelled the stone.

Take me not to gloom of death,
the immeasurable pain
I will find the ultimate path.
It was not easy to uncondition the lips.
Mute genes had become my potency.
Unworded a voice rose in the east,
I squirmed.

Satish Verma

COMPARISION

Alone with an untouched,
untainted voice in me
I blunder into a rarefied
mist of thoughts,
listening, holding my breath.
A pause amidst thunders of vocabulary.
Gratefully the end comes
liberating the sap from earth.

Intense pain isolates you
from the drama of life.
Maimed by three dimensional
negativity you walk straight
inhaling the scent of death row.
The tapestry of pain outlines the path.
Your shoulders are broad with pride.

Nostalgia of a blooming tree.
Grateful to summer
gives you the aloneness.
Like stars we are sailing
in our separateness.
The perfumed gathering tenders no apology.
I always detested the comparison of heights.

Satish Verma

SEA SHELLS

I was not there
where you are.
Non-stop travel, half the world
to meet you.

Outdoors alone in my homeless home
tonight I will talk to you in sleep
from the smoking hurts.

Trespassing the forbidden line
to the drowned boat,
I am opening the dark sails.

Hope and the sea
apprenticed to pluck the shells
from the eyes, I am wandering on beach.

Satish Verma

TALL FAITH

Between the tears falls the non-vision.
I am scared
let go off my silence
and restore the infidel wall,
speaking to faithful bullet to aim nothing.
We are still not protected
in the domed confidence of million years.

Ahead of time the tryst
with goodness becomes
a window opening into
a garden of startling truths.
An immaculate response of speechless
creation gives back
a new twist to faith,
and Gods have gone into hiding.

In granite temple
the doors are missing.
Leaves fall from tall faith,
unstruck in the air, become fossils.

Satish Verma

WAKES THE BLOOD

Walking alone in
the dishevelled inner space
I find peace in my failure,
an innocent patch of a silent hurt.
The futility of hollow beliefs
crawls like a spent thunder.
Truth remains unborn.

I cross a bridge where eterniry begins.
The freaks chase the shadow for a while,
the idea so excruciating
they melt in conspiracy of silence.

In oneness and suchness
the harmony drips
from infinite pores.
The seed has a history.
Lost in resonance of outer space,
now wakes the blood,
distorting the ripples.

Satish Verma

TRAMPLING

It was happening.
It was a perverse state,
one by one we were tearing apart,
our wholeness, our human heritage.

A distorted image of beautiful order.
We went assembling the torn limbs.
Each desire was sutured
like a wound, to become a scar.
It was a collective grief of history.

Abrasion of ‘me’, grotesquely
disfigures the face
of soft weightless peace.
Love has never been the same.
The little things have become
enormous ghosts trampling our senses.
Ugly scrawls are scaring.

Satish Verma

MOB WAS COMING

The enormous evil pours
its darkness on streets.
Violence throws its tentacles.
Overpowering fear stalks
and we shrink inside.
Ancient wounds fester again.
Our pain knives the clitches and
suddenly we search for the roots.

When the centuries fail,
who will link the dates?
The spaces in mind
are thronged by promising tomorrows
of soft pornography.
The virus spreads far
and wide and calender bares the ignobles.

The mob was coming.
Windows have new paint.
We will collectively burn
the scriptures in the city.
The deep tunnels hide the debris
of our broken limbs and shredded belief.

Satish Verma

LINKAGE

Too many mongrels on road
chasing inbred hymens,
while walking I try to find
who was not unipolar.

I am trying to fill in
magic and enigma
in intersex of autobiography
of a right man.

I must find out
who were you in feminine attire
drinking sap from merciless life
igniting god?

To uncover the antimatter
I place a wreath for the matter.
Body flashes the other side of death
to uncouple the link.

Satish Verma

SPARKS IN WOODS

Some depth,
my thoughts never touched,
the moonlight fades on my window.
The vague gratification,
falls silently on my mind.
Pausing on relativity,
I open the door to eternity.

Vast loneliness of qualms,
like the cult of dancing doubts
where was the choice?
I felt guilty at the fall of truth.
Black grass was not my doing.
My blood dripped
on every count, on every tear.

I don’t need questions anymore.
Give me landmarks.
Darkness was for me.
I will walk relentlessly
in search of light.
Alone, you will remember the fire,
the spent spark in woods.
It makes a difference
when you are picking flowers.

Satish Verma

STRANGE ENEMIES

If the lineation wins,
I will not pardon myself
the dots on flesh will glare.
A dummy hurricane,
will envelop the ruinous body.
The death will stalk and the predators,
will have the field day.

My own truth cries for an,
idea of making a complete suicide
on table. Inside the guts
flows a column of skimmed fakes.
Directions break the geometry of sleeping faith.
It was not worth trying.

In mind between the dark and grey,
lies the pale of truth.
This perspective is a constant pain.
Where will the thoughts end
and the ripples begin?
Arguments have become
strange enemies in war of words.

Satish Verma

SONG ABOVE THE SORROW

I missed the heartbeats for a vessel of stars,
while death was always near,
circling the house.

The network of sorrow,
beams to world.
Can symmetry of pain
provide a plank for the sinking mind?
I cannot hold the curling smoke of a tainted fact.
The fear, the anxiety,
empowers the animal look.

An uncovered seed sprouting into
tiny root on my hand
starts a conspiracy.
People talk about the meditation,
and senile body shrinks.
There is a song above the sorrow and
freedom from the assassination of ideologies.
Hold my arm!

Satish Verma

SILENCE OF DOORS

How can you salvage the theme of god
from the forbidden knowledge?
Must affinities have a reason?
The precarious life hangs
between birth & death.
Crying all the way for immortality,
I ask myself for the end. Was it beautiful?

The ending becomes a climate of personalities
from return to return.
The anonymous call of history
overthrows the silence of doors.
A hard rock strikes the clumsy head.
You cannot take a turn,
another step takes a plunge.

You don’t dare to face yourself,
It was frightening.
A text was bruised and the book was bleeding.
Mapless you tread on broken paths.
Nothing was on record.
Was your god climbing up the stairs?

Satish Verma

SPIDER

I was very restless today
somebody had overplayed the hand
to grab the absolute.
Light was searching the earth
and earth was moving inside me.

I wanted to pack up and go
to meet the truth.
The lips had left their print
on the empty cups.
The ragpicker was waiting.

My toes had met the brutal stones
of godhood. I was puzzled by new
methodology to make man free.
As the grass grows through the carcass
a cataract is trumpeting blind.

I was afraid of the huge web.
The spider was nowhere in sight.

Satish Verma

SPIRAL DESCENT

Where the laughter ends,
sorrow makes an entry.
The black cloud drifts towards you,
a gift of unknown to nameless.
The sacred bond of blissful ignorance.
I remember that I am still alive today,
my friends are gone.
I see a light on the hill.

So beautiful in its death,
a song lies on my lips
I face the world
with a wound in my eyes.
Space of many years
between me & my defeat.
Time has not come for farewell.
Cannot afford the luxury
of breaking down & then disintegrate.

Alone I watch you in fascination,
the slow spiral descent.
My watch stops again & again.
Suddenly I start speaking the truth
about the deception & the lacerating wounds.
There is a longing for a frozen moon
and a melody melting in the air.

Satish Verma

LOYAL TO DEATH

An answer becomes a question
without an effort.
The world hisses
in filaments of joy.
My hands become
green branches of a huge tree.
Terrified sun moves away
with all its glory.
I empty myself in a circle of voidness.

It was a sad chapter
the beginning of violence-
the heat dries up the sweat on brows.
Standing in the sun I watch,
how we are dismantling each other.
The innocence of civility,
eclipsed by ferocious flesh, loses symphony.

The fatal, brutal, savage times.
We are running
to reach nowhere.
The tension creeps under the skin.
The impurity of thought
hurts like broken glass.
A barren land forgets
the man & remains loyal to death.

Satish Verma

DEATH OF CALENDERS

It is me, inside & outside,
movement of sensuous self.
Time sails through the mind,
a silken thread unbroken in names.
If only the death would erase the fear.
If only the other self meets my roots
and stir up the inner sap.

Reaching the end,
you tell me to remember
your name to latch on to memories,
to collect all the pieces
of conceptual loss & gains.
How we were fooling ourselves?
Nothing is left between us
to celebrate the dreams.

All the stray thoughts
could not give us insight
we were dusted off from start
to finish in our loneliness.
Once it was a glory
to watch carnations in our eyes,
now I am mourning the death of calenders.

Satish Verma

DEAF CITY

We cannot think alike,
and we cannot listen together.
The words change the colours
and the colours let go their charm.
A billowing smoke
fills the space between us.
We are searching
our destinies amidst the ruins
and life hangs like an empty frame.

The jaundiced view,
mars the beauty of cognition.
I stick to my long path,
though journey is tough.
The immaculate space fills my lungs.
I feel the thick, stellar thoughts
and climb over the contradictions.
Balance breaks, becomes the faint window.

The disorder lies within.
Green moments evaporate
I wither up in veins.
Heart misses the beat.
Standing in dark I hear
the sounds of a deaf city.
My eyes search,
the letterprint of a tranquil childhood.

Satish Verma

LIKE A MOONBEAM

A brief encounter with the depth charge,
paralyzed waist down,
looking within
looking without
counting the vibrations in sea shells,
I could hobble along with a younger poem
my love trapped in words.

We were reaching nowhere
near destination.
Our shadows entwined
with our steps.
Bluebells not withstanding catkins of mulberry
stood waist high
for the catwalk.

We kept wishpering
unworldly nothings,
like autumn leaves rustling in air.
Petals of purple bruises squirting the smell of desire.
I will touch you
like moon beam
from dark sky.

Satish Verma

LUNAR TOUCH

The space covers me now.
Words stayed too long
beyond the thoughts of I
and my landscape.
A burst of silence soaks me.
What was history,
a voyage to rough awakening?
Absence of a voice makes me suffer again.

My religion burns.
Life is a dark smoke
I will write a message on your palm.
Give me a breather,
the distances make me sad.
Black dust drifts through
the slits of our predictions.
At least I know what I am.

On a sunny day
I break a mirror.
My fingers slide like scissors,
open the envelope.
I know it has a sermon,
I don’t want to read.
The depression has a lunar touch.
I break a flower into hundred petals.

Satish Verma

INVERTED BODY

Ending of day was beginning,
of a terrible awakening
when you started filling,
in the gap between the lies.
Truth aborts every time
we conceive a bright idea.
Somebody takes a shot
at you to kill the name.
Small birds twitter away,
the hopeless light.

Every day you destroy,
a part of yourself, concealing the light.
Lava flows in your eyes, scarring
the profile of mind, which was not stationary.
Confession was out of question.
Private feeling hooked you,
to a perfect kiss of fate.
Hugging the wisdom, you started a laugh.

From great heights you,
fall slowly, crumbling
I am on the bank of a stream,
identifying the inverted body.
From action to action,
there was no peace.
I tried to sort out the wearing down of life.
After all, the narration
cannot deliver the meaning of death.

Satish Verma

PASSAGE TO UNKNOWN

At cultural opening of thin
layers of faith & consciousness,
a new breed of angels was
romping on our souls.
I suffered again for tiny spaces
between the thoughts.
Death cannot be intrusive.
It waits at the door of light.
The show will start when truth dies.

I go again for the reality of anticlimax,
the anxiety of endless flights into fantasies,
the hallucinations of falling trees.
Give me some space to pedal
the silken smoke of dark truths.

There was fire in my heart
and eternal burning
of a lake. I cared for tears,
the eerie memories.
The age-old pain of seeking
the liberation from twisted symbols,
simple measures of
finding a passage to unknown.

Satish Verma

SAVAGE FIRE

Does not penetrate,
it brushes superficially.
Repeating me, from dot to dot, it leaps.
The ego performs swift impulses
blasting the constellations of simple arithmetic.
Blue sky gives a second thought,
strange colors appear.

Love has changed the skyline
and labels are fading.
Virginal truth has lost its burning print.
It flaunts and swears like a theater.
Bedecked, larger than reality,
second hand puppets rule the master.
Empty vessel pours out faith.

The city walks at dawn,
night lives in metaphors.
Gritty myths disturb the neighbourhood,
salvaging comforts from rumours.
In dreams we hear the clapping of hands.
Hopelessness burns me like a savage fire.

Satish Verma

LEGITIMACY

No plaques?
No head stones?
He did not start the inferno.
It was a misspelt agony
in purple ruins.
Pain had no other name!

While thinking of him
I evacuated the matter,
completed the circle beyond solitude.
More I did not break the silence
worse was the grief!

Meaningless threats
had no relevance.
I recaptured the color of stars,
glory of flames,
beauty of crucial controversy.

I was repeating the legitimacy
of alphabets.
Greatness was the idea of mediocres.
Every thought had the dignity
of its own!

Satish Verma

NAMELESS INTRUDERS

Fear swooped on extended mind,
when brain was never silent.
I was never alone,
voices broke all around.
The lead became kinky.
For sometime, I escaped into antiquity for,
a surrogate relief.
The clock prowled for
the graffiti of truth in night.

A programmed psychology
look extra-terrestrial.
The life mutated into a watch
which did not move.
The mob controlled the streets.
How thin was the tribe of fireflies in dark?
The sparks were cold
and stars were warm.

I stayed by the fire of meditation for a
turbulent river.
The movement of shadows made me sad.
An obscene climate inflicted wounds on trees.
Despair & rage, raised a panic in the herd.
Nameless intruders climbed our houses.

Satish Verma

SUNRISE

The decline was steep.
Somewhere the clouds burst in tears.
Sitting on the flat prejudice
we weaved a gift of poison for everyone.
It did not stain our shirts.
The big fat people moved about
with great confidence to change the world.
I suffered inwardly.

Perhaps the greed drank
from our passions.
A spectre of hounding.
Which never stopped.
My parents knew better,
always talked of comportment.
Llike our love for neighbours.
The turmoil drifted now in our hearts.

A self-potrait became
the vehicle of death
I visited myself,
to wind up the matters of concern.
The graffiti on the abandoned
walls of memories erased
time, altered the wounds,
and trembling shadows.
Sunrise will provide me a lesson.

Satish Verma

STARED BLANKLY

We don’t want to
see each other naked.
with our barbs.
Seeking the truth outside
our body was painful
we don’t want to change
the clouded mirror of water.
The desires were unlimited
and restoring the metaphor needed time.

For contributing for the unbroken becoming.
I held the water in my palm.
It dropped like ciphers
on the hot earth subtracting the charm.
We knew each other,
still falling ego was always revengeful.
My empty hands would seek another title.

A solitary ingredient made the old song.
Few will remember the wings and sky.
The anger’s haste had mauled the body.
Day after day false claims
were made to regain the soul.
The search for the sacred
will remain futile
I stared blankly.

Satish Verma

SEASONAL PRIORITIES

Effortlessly a desire erects
a monument. One flaw
demolishes the image. Stones,
ugly grass & a solitary tree
make the landscape.
Hundreds of seeds go back
to the earth’s womb, never
to sprout. Heartbroken
I stand in the middle
of life, crumbling alone.

How can we change?
A splash of green
ingests a scissor,
that is not enough. A parallel tragedy
strikes. Sun and flowers
are gone, seeking a truth,
not yet conceived. A timeless
fire burns in the temple,
uncovering the heat,
edging towards us.

Freedom from long falls comes,
bit by bit in degrees.
Suffering remains the same.
We immortalize our smears.
The absolute truth
suddenly becomes a lie.
A myth which balooned
our minds. But brutal
sunlight has seasonal priorities.

Satish Verma

TO LAUGH OR TO WEEP

When the night was swamping him
with epileptic frame
he was walking without limbs.

The awakening was painful.
Drinking his own blood
breaking his own bones.

This largesse was tempting.
No guaranteed death,
you will live with grenades.

Grief was priceless.
Only nightingale will exercise
for the fallen miracles.

He declared at incendiary pyre
to become a phoenix
which never was.

It was an ethical question
to laugh or to weep.
Man was made unmade.

Satish Verma

WAILING WINDOWS

chasing you in the dreams and
voilence made you sick of the
evil designs.
We must unpack our grief.
Hurts were huddled under the smiles;
times were stypefying.

I grieve for the dead
prophet, spread – eagled on road.
It had been a memorial death
fighting the ugly machinations
the days had planted.
A calculated murder of mighty truth
had taken place.

Again a flaming head
seeks revenge
violence does not cease.
The greed was the essence.
The town was full of howling.
There was civil war amongst
the wailing windows.
My heart aches,
I did’t belong to this
profile of naked wolves.

Satish Verma

LIPS WILL MEASURE

A perfect solution
was never found. The question
remained unanswered beyond
the skin. Stripped to the bone.
afraid of future,
you cannot invite the ending
and present will not continue
indefinetly. Unabated,
over and over again,
you hit the trail to drink the sun.


Pain and sorrow, hurts and grief,
is prescribed fear of unknown.
In the dark tunnel,
your numb limbs
search for an explanation.
The dialogues with stones
do not bring comparison.
You should remember your name.
The lips will measure the time.


Movement of fear begging
for unbuckling the dark
was like a calculated risk to alalyze
the wolf’s intentions.
They are hovering like inhuman
crimes. A potent hunger
walks out of the kitchen,
gouges out the peacock’s eyes.
Now rains will not come.

Satish Verma

DARES THE STORM

The pain out-thinks every moment,
all over the body
I wander in a solitary walkway.
There is nothing between mind
and brain. Whole prosperity of thoughts
curves easily. The body
spends all the internal wealth
to gain a humble peace.
The rambling melancholia
pales into white lava.

The fatal fear follows you
like a hot light. The pursuit
of incense, the chase of
beautiful icon’s cleavage brings
the charm. Speaking about the ecstasy,
about the shapeless pleasure,
the ultimate opposite of
sacredness becomes instant
liberation, from any symbol.

The contents of the dumb
days are burning. Peace
never returns. Prayer
and worship wakes the child
inside you. Flesh denies
the natural desire. You
cannot accept the corrupt barometer
of obedience. It dares the storm,
gathers the momentum
and kisses the slayer.

Satish Verma

ALONE IN THE HEAT

The insult to sober conviction
unsettles the saints.
Give me your hand,
to solve this problem.
An abstract idea joins
the postures of different conflicts,
the worship of crumpled illusions.
After great sufferings
only proverbs give a soothing effect.

Images blur, misspent energy
distorts the palisade of love.
Perhaps history repeats itself.
Moon cries at midnight
looking beneath the soft clouds,
to follow eternity.
Past & present are losers.
The trustworthy future
does not hold any promise.

Again questioning brings
the numbness on surface.
The agony of realization,
moves away from just mistakes.
It is hard to smash
the strong beliefs.
A self-denial brings
the death of truth.
I am alone in the heat
of an argument, pathless, rising, sinking.

Satish Verma

SINGING DUST

Bring out your integrity
genesis is imploding
in the murderous womb.

Multilinear mutinies have started
in red blooms
igniting the sky.

An old woman walks on the street
eating the shadows of sun.
The king will give her a gift of moon.

How the earth has been flattened
by the pawns of Resurrection?
Life has never been the same.

Purely undone for the death
milk of silence in dark.
The cow is sitting on the singing dust.

Fear was not me I was listening
the wheezing sound of changing winds.
The snakes are coming out of the trenches.

Satish Verma

PASSION IS A HURRICANE

Ending of the thought
does not bring a lull.
It is a sequel beyond
my reach. An old extrication,
I dig for my roots.
The forgotten names,
the unhealing wounds of a doctrine,
a tiny memory of pulsating embryo,
not yet born!

Fear generates a kill. Ferocious movement
inside the cells slowly,
you become zero without a center.
The tangent skips
on your surface. Claustrophobia.
You start breaking the walls.
Fighting anxiety & shame
a timeless timber without a foliage.

My ignition point is hurt in
the new culture of game.
How we approach the road,
which smells the death,
blood or smoke?
The passion is a hurricane.
Uproots all the bones,
shatters all the roots.
A glory reckons after a while,
for the election of sorrow.

Satish Verma

ENDING OF TIME?

The identity moves ahead
of the shadow of truth
I search for the absolute
in vain. Can I remove the emptiness
and talk to myself?
The core feeling is same.
We flow in our own separateness.
I want to outlive my brethren
and eat my death alone.

Mindful I watch the kernel,
swaying tree is silent
I am here due to a fault in the genes.
Grief is not my skull house.
Each night I sleep with dry lips
dreaming a lake.
My pillow floats like a chopped moon.

Silence of anonymity
in the heart of a storm.
It is a curious apparition.
The vibrations of distant whispers
fill up the lungs,
ripping apart the veins.
My inside blood utters
a shrill sob.Where to go?
We cannot return back. Ending of time?

Satish Verma

GATHER THE SUN

In the untouchable dream,
night floats tugging at my sleeve
pain moves like a cloud.
My silence swells. A terrified impulse
breaks the window
and lets in the black shadows.
Pulsating noise explains
the human equation. Restless,
all night I give up my body.

The austere immortality
embraces the passion like a blast
I adore the drama,
but agony stops the words.
The earthly pettiness bothers
me. Somewhere the life ends
in nothingness. And sorrow
dictates the heart.
We abandon the paths taken,
walk back to the curtains.

Dying in pieces,
we disintegrate in semi-colons
and when the innocent eyes
seek the beauty of truth,
the life moves on to find
the meaning of bitter triumph.
The green fabric of emotions gets criss-crossed.
I gather the sun in my poems.

Satish Verma

HOUSE OF RAINS

Hold the innocence,
at brink of sliding death.
Formless learning never answers
the questions of life
and truth. A single meaning
connects to unnumbered voices.
Anarchy of rimless vision
flourishes. I trace out
the pink stain of a murder on the sand.

Going beyond the fear
was a sane thought
I was the pain
and I was the truth.
Life presided over
the hyphenated relationship.
What do I do with the broken mirror?
The severed head of sun
trembles in the mid - afternoon.
Light of the east fading?

Cogitating on fear of dying,
In contrast to benevolence
I flung out the pleasure, from window
to find the brokenness of time.
The depression swelters under the doubts.
I want to see the house of rains,
of wounds and your pride.

Satish Verma

INNOCENT WAS THE BETRAYAL

The rose month is coming
I am not ready to receive the guest.
Mistletoe will takeover
With folded hands wind was blowing
No star accepted the gift
of burning earth.

He walked alone in the ruins
to search the time of rich.
His hunger did not find the bread.

He thought he was good as a bone
in the diet of sunset
on the snurfs of dew.

Innocent was the betrayal
under the sheets.
Pert was the sting.

Myth stumbles out from dead souls
I am walking behind the moon
your hand was on my shoulder.

Satish Verma

CLAUSTROPHOBIA

For a patch of happiness
you rushed into the arms
of clouds. Only to fall back with tears.
The glazing authority of moon
hangs on the poverty of spiked wisdom.
Betrayal is the norm of celestial thinking;
how can you accept a dropp of death?

What is your motive
in watching the pain?
A path, a tunnel,
a precipice. The collage of purity
has the innocence of sorrow.
And truth, sails like a phoenix.
There is complete silence.
The flameless fire collapses
lapping up the anger.

Pouring out all the heart beats,
emptying the mind
darkness lowers the wheels
between muscles and bones.
Your body is eaten half by dusty thoughts.
Claustrophobia chokes the little stanzas
you are afraid, some one cares for you.

Satish Verma

TREE OF LIGHT DANCES

Pursuit of otherness died
with you, from sameness.
It was a blind chemistry.
The cancellation of consciousness
did not lead to peace.
In the name of freedom
we destroyed our relations.
The shadow of sphinx always overlook us,
shaping bare bones.

Epic symbols gave you
the infinity of after life.
You grope in dark
to find the future
and present suffers in austerity.
The space between inner and outer body widens.
Something has to be done
to provoke the legends to become the evidence.

You adore a conclusion
it never changes. Images differ,
myths and symbols make a dry sound.
The silence is wrenched into a seizure,
falling into the emptiness of tomorrow.
Unreasonable thrust of color
does not alter the darkness of blood
and song. Tree of light dances.

Satish Verma

BODY RECOMES THE PATH

Joining the seams for the sake of probity
you opt for the wages of truth.
Staying hungry to read the cosmos,
connecting the meditation to love
denatured. You are afraid of losing
the thread. Memory of infidelity of conceivement.

A vision without the thought
was a consecration
to think or not to think
was a great dilemma.
A backdropp of the prisms
always made you crazy.
Listening without ears,
seeing without eyes
became a brilliant idea.

Children of grief coming through
the open doorways
of mind. Soul mates.
I dream of a desperate ending
of midnight journey into song inviolate.
What if the night ends
without a human face?
Body becomes the path unending.

Satish Verma

BLISS OF ANOTHER SELF

Must we go beyond
the black holes of burned books?
The flight from the edge of circles
leaves the dust behind.
Inside our wings are embedded
the years. In the sky
we must part. The parallax is here.
I will pursue the centuries
circling over the memories.


A single page flutters,
rest of the book is silent
not skillful technicality,
only a smuggled simplicity.
I fall into the stillness
of a ceaseless motion,
fall into yesterday.
The feeling to put out
the bright candle is very strong.
A burning solitude.

Face to face with motionless dream
the wide space between letters unfold a meaning.
The absence of central thought
was the essence.
Refusing to churn the evidence,
we forgot that our territories could,
not hold the bliss of another self,
of another relay.

Satish Verma

THE FORKED TONGUES

The family evolved from
virtue to virtual image.
I wanted to exhume the body of truth.

Half-way we went to the moon,
half-naked was the bluff.
No choosing, no judging helped.

I saw the fear in eyes.
You found the inside was out
behind the words overnight.

The fountains were dressed up in neon,
something new was in air,
the forked tongues were hissing an arrival.

Cupped mirrors were reflecting the lure
of the city. Thirst was absent.
It was hunger in the heart.

You face had a bleak shade
Darkness? I hide my scent.
Snakes were visible in the bush!

Satish Verma

EPILEPTIC TRUTH

When I touched your pshyche,
my completeness wavered.
In the empty words
and hollow thoughts.
The road to my dream house burned.
I longed to meet my flame.

You were listening to declaration of truth.
It was a refuge,
there was no evidence
of any movement of humanity.
My soft mind took the imprint
of golden spaces between
the dark alleys of earth.
The skeletons of history remained unclaimed.

Remembering your trust
My attachment floats. Anxiety
of seeking. The dust smears
the face of epileptic truth.
The clogged arteries of mundane heart twitch.
There wasn’t room for sentiments.
Moment to moment I travelled
to break the silence in vain.

Satish Verma

MAULED SELF

Timeless I dream about
a sleepwaking into death,
inside me. Lifting in sound
and the wet silence.
The boisterous stream of years rolls down
like the debris of earthquake
from the hill. Life casts out
the pretentions,
throws the tears at my gate.

That was not me,
the smoke from the footprints
the failed virtue.
Black sweat of my arms started,
the disposition of blind truth.
The enquiry provoked
a further dialogue between time
and sun tanned cancer of a city.
The death of a whistle blower.

In the stillness of mind,
I enter to meet the mauled self.
In the wordless flesh a drama unfolds.
The tongue fixes
the blame of a desireless god
sees only a shining darkness
of a suspended faith.
And a mad fadeout, amputates
the linear thoughts.

Satish Verma

MY BLUE VALLEY BURNS

It was very transparent
death of the shadow;
life moved without it.
We both had seen a huge hunger
and the veil of poverty,
and a cult of familiar lies in
ancient puddles of guilt.
There was no mourning. Love
and hate shaped the duality.


Life and death moved
hand in hand running in mystic silence.
Some thing has evaporated like
a spirit from the wreckage
of emptiness. A witch hunt
started to find the clarity.
A flower melted into a book
a primitive instinct was there
to survive.

My blue valley burns,
I stay attuned to fog.
Smoke and slap of winds.
calling up the sky.
Illusion of peace shattering
the night. The soaring soul floats on
the serene aura of solitude.
I don’t want to wake up again.

Satish Verma

FEET OF CLAY

Who am I to know
the abstract silence
when you drink the moonlight all alone?
The black toes of a dying woman
haunt me in a stream
of white shrouds. A night
of shattering perceptions,
defaults and ignorance.
Time bomb was ticking.

It had been troubling me
the betrayals in night
mothering a vegetable past.
A single finger defines
the authority of future.
I traced the proud shadows of a god for,
a useless reference of illegible wisdom,
untold misery of green waves mirrored in sky.

For extracting death
from life at every step
I knew the answer.
Dying was not a private thing.
The truth and the path would die.
How you dreaded the closed doors?
The explicit fear of drowning
in beliefs with brothers of
sorrow and feet of clay.

Satish Verma

A KISS MELTS

Turning me blue
blithe thoughts had come like snakes
wriggling, biting, leaving tooth marks.
I remained holding a dew drop
on the blade of grass.

Essence was untouched.
Night will change its dialect
after a casual death.

I contrive no more assemblage.
No condolence for the razed home.
The flames will leap again from words
to describe the inspiration, as the
sprouts break the earth.

When the logic ends
a kiss melts on the lips of fire.
The rainbow pierces the clouds
At the interface of sky.

Satish Verma

STRANGE RELATIONSHIP

Death has been my partner,
my best friend.
Every day the fear,
greets me in my bed,
and body starts dying.
I join the play.
The sun clips the clouds,
my lungs fills with aroma.
A golden bird starts singing
on the swaying leaves of palm.

Death smears me with ideas,
larger than pain
before and after it was foggy.
I sleep, half-opened eyes,
watching over with face
to the window.
Life moves from grief to grief.
A tiny seed pulsates
in the crevice of mind,
I love a view like that.

One hundred moons
and a dying sun.
An immence contrast.
Whom shall I choose as a prologue?
I cannot tread the center
of unborn story. The clouds
are always crimson before
the night. Life has
a shadow of death – and a strange
relationship survives.

Satish Verma

UNSPOKEN SECRETS

It comes rolling out
from the trees, a sliced moon
inside out, undressing. Pain
quietly walks away.
I wash out my battered dreams.
A spiritual rain drenches
the mind. A shaft of blue light
provokes to inherit the sky.
I hear the music, what is not there.

Anonymous creation,
unnamed, unsung, I am waiting
for a human touch.
I know we have killed all
the manners. Men are becoming roads,
disappearing in landslides.
In names we dedicate
our customs of beautiful past.


Note book narrates but
nobody writes on the wall.
Someone scatters the virgin
seeds like unspoken secrets.
A scream becomes a custom,
mining the unknown.
We will gather the wings
of fallen birds and portray
a non-being on the mirror.

Satish Verma

FALL OF A TENDER DOCTRINE

Talking of existence and being,
amidst chaos and misery
my heart aches. In truth,
I become a shred of broken
life. Your integrity at a price,
anything for sale.
How easy we are degenerating,
absent-mindedly we clamour for antidotes.

At least death is not corrupt,
when it eats the age
without a mask.
Seeing without eyes
was a great achievement,
I thought. With no thoughts
I watched the immensity
of truth. My choice always had a wet eye.

When the thinking becomes zero,
I enter from smile to grief
your glance penetrates the wall.
I stumble again in light,
lung filling with verses,
untitled. A moon is going
to be eclipsed very soon.
The fall of a tender doctrine.

Satish Verma

ARROGANT CURVES

At the dance of the naked moon
a single leaf quivers
I go into trance.
A fetus in womb turns.
The first appearance
of the magnitude:
a sad cloud leans on the horizon.
Hostility of the summer
is melting in blue sky.

It will never end.
The eternal soft music of silk
the death had been hunting.
I will call for a song-
I need a transcendental soul
to sing an elegy for my unborn revolution.
Give me a hand,
a presence, a touch.

My fading blanket of stars.
at the golden gate
was not a voyage
to total emptiness.
When the assault comes
I confront the sad poems
stained by blood.
A solitude of corners
is better than arrogant curves.

Satish Verma

THE WATCHMAN

Eyes locked, slowly we drift
knowing or not knowing;
A conversation dips in laxity.

The time stood around, eye-deep,
unbelieving steel, which had bent
forgetting the fortress of body.

A narcissus weeps without eyes
waiting for the evidence.
A raging moon will not come.

When nightingale stops singing
how will I find your home?
Far away half-naked sun was hiding.

Ungrateful century splits the human
species. Genes are jumping out.
The watchman had left the door.

Satish Verma

ROSE UPON ROSE

Let me put back
the rhythm to the song
of broken limbs.
To arrest the speed of sun-set,
for a meaningful dialogue
with the verse of moon.
The poison of floodlit city
grazes my house.
The innocence of the dark suffers.

The white stillness
of empty hands lifts a failure
my heart lives with a death
Intimately. Where the birds have gone?
I chase the wings.
The otherness of love,
the vulnerability of darkness
stays with me.
The thirst of ocean is very large.

Mechanical imitation
of aloneness for a ripe death
it is nostalgia of past history.
Deep in thoughts I run
for my green childhood.
A strange metastasis
from remote guilts. A rose
upon rose piled up
to form a signature mode.

Satish Verma

SMILE BECOMING LARGER

Being was my forte,
where the words speak no more
a lifetime of black stillness,
the sunflowers sleeping.
The controller and the enquiry
freeze the ozone.
I repent again for all the sins of eloquence,
the rustling of leaves.

Take care of mood,
hoarseness and slippery speech
there is no room for pain.
A whole tribe of thoughts
scatters the lines to avoid
becoming, featureless and nameless.
Boulders are falling on feathers.
I am leaning towards eerie winds.

The other side of the door
was misty. The kiss of fire.
Mind wanders aimlessly.
The destiny breaks the steps
of sleepwalkers. They are falling in dark,
towards dark. A moon rides the clouds,
its smile becoming larger & larger.

Satish Verma

LIVING LEGEND

The flame will not die.
I pursue the path of smoke
the virtue of suffering
gives the pure light.
The book knows my inside truth
and tells no one. I weep for the swallows,
I could not feed.
I lay one white
stone for each death.

You will scatter my ashes,
in the abandoned land
where silence walks
and words lie like microcosm
of contemporary hunger.
Life was a cupful of tears.
The voices always spilled challenging
the fidelity of flowing water.

The living legend turns in grave,
I pray for peace
I promised myself to stand erect
when the quake comes.
I will save the flora
and the grass of dying earth.
I ask for one more life
to clear the debt & bleach my guilt.

Satish Verma

FAITHLESS AUTUMN

Bleak landscape
transcends its shoulders,
writhes in pain.
I praise the light for green haloes
and tall figures, which cast
long shadows on parched lips,
my world. The hot sand fills the eyes.
A palpalable seizure shakes the horizon.

I drift like a dry leaf
on the winds of time
the perplexities of sand dunes
and dancing smoke.
What I was striving for all life?
A metaphorical silence
spends the energy of unspoken waking.
The rich decadence of things unhappned.

The occult rules the flesh
and the music of life dies.
The names start trading the tree,
full of flowers, inarticulately
to faithless autumn.
The twigs long for mother shape
the icons will swallow
the melting grief in vain.

Satish Verma

FULL STOP

I allowed you to tread on me unflinchingly.
My mind on pause,
ungrieved you turn back the clock.
Enough to stun the century,
I take cognisance of divine’s club foot.

I did not believe in self-pity
but I was racing against time
to avoid a jealous path running with me.
Yet I was sleeping on bushes of estranged thorns
without locking my golden age.

Tulips are no more my favourites.
You have to dig deep to plant the bulbs
and wait. When death opens the door for me,
I wanted to be free from any commitment
and ready to walk in, like a foot soldier.

This cosmos is mine, body is for you.
It no more obeys my command.
No more commas are needed,
a final full stop will do.
I am returning back to my home.

Satish Verma

COMMUNION

This shapeless fear
gives birth to cosmic vibrations
a prelude to porous thoughts.
Foreign in pain, a face burns
in deep meditation.
Nothing consolates. Hurting
the contents of judgement,
a reflexive existence exonerates
itself from a spiral fall.

Indecisions of sun
to penetrate the fissures of dawn
failed the valley of flowers.
Aloneness was speechless.
The shoots plucked
the sky in flakes. The wind
played at the mercy of trees.
The royal departure
of night sprang a surprise.

The dying seed had
a pride to offer. The sprout.
Nothing is upsetting the garden.
no one is certain of crazy fate.
The sap has a sense of liberation
coming out of conflicts
and chaos. A communion
with space takes place.

Satish Verma

WAKING IS PAINFUL

Reading the innocence of leaves,
a tree, yellow stars,
I was always glad of new birth
and another death. Ceasation
did not repeat itself.
I hold the nightmare, hypnotized.
Pride without flame, ending in smoke,
until you come at dawn
like an echo in silence.

At process of transmutation
old memories are indelible
stains the solitude,
when I am in retreat, to awake the silence.
The wilderness haunts
the morning glory of creation.
Hope imitates the wings
for a brief time. Waking is painful.

In attachment to walls,
labyrinth of miseries
we wanted our language
to show non-conflicting assumptions.
Love generates the search
for cloudless humility.
Seeing through was not
the romance. Denying
was the essence of purity.

Satish Verma

ANOTHER BLOSSOM

The eye within the eye
of a soul is tranquil
but the storm is raging.
Around the body, the cluster of names.
Father and mother,
brothers and sisters,
I am refugee in my home.
I steal glances over the western sky,
a blue star beckons.

Ambition was a small
city in twinkling night
a pilgrimage of amazing nothingness.
My heartaches for the missed
happenings. The decay was inevitable.
The flight of swans continued.
The memories of flowers
had a funeral for me.

Death was ready to strike
eyeball to eyeball, I refuse to gratify
One long vigil was still
incomplete, ash & flame
will break the distance.
Today a song will rise
from the ruins.
I will wait for another blossom,
another voyage to dreams.

Satish Verma

PAUSE

Pursuit of a desire
in the middle of philosophizing
life was an absurd idea.
I was drawing a relationship
between reality and death.
Learning from destruction brings a pause,
holding the hyphenating truth.
The energy flows in voices
of charity under the flowering words.

When you slur over a depreciation.
no one knows a bias.
The bridge was incomplete and walls were high.
The decay spilled out of the house, removing rotten beams.
The first and last economy
of throat sinks in
the mud of heavy propaganda.

It was not exactly a storm,
only hollow drums
beating for the drifting night.
The blood drops falling
on the moonlit earth.
The questions remain unanswered
who were the killers
of prophets and saints?
Who had changed the flesh?

Satish Verma